FO 3: Trouble on the Homefront ending retconned
by Wired Dragoon
Summary: I did not like the end of that quest, so I rewrote it to reflect a more sensible approach that also takes the player character and his power and influence which are apparent at that point of the game into account. It's a one-shot, but please, R&R.


_This story is a short, one-shot voyage into the _Fallout_ universe, mainly to reverse the truly bad quality and choices apparent in the whole _„Trouble on the Homefront"_-mission, which took nothing into account the player had done so far, not even his outer appearance. It is my opinion that, like much of the very late part of the game, it is forced, and artificially short. But enough of me ranting. This is my attempt at a more realistic outcome of the situation that developes once the Vault Dweller returns to Vault 101. It's been written on a hunch and is rather incoherent, but give me your feedback anyway._

_Oh, yes: If you have not yet played the game, but plan to do so: _**beware of the spoilers**_._

**Homecoming**

„...you are a hero – and you have to leave."

She looked at him with her hazel eyes, her smile a sad grimace that failed to soften the blow she had just struck against him. It was not the personal rejection by her, though. Amata had been a good friend throughout all the time he had grown up in the Vault, and had he had stayed, had his father not left the Vault without any notice, more might have had happened between the two of them. But that had been a year ago. He was getting closer to his twentyfirst birthday by now, but it seemed like ages had passed since she had hurried him through the opened blast door and into the Wasteland.

He did not answer at first, just looking at her from behind the shatterproof lenses of his helmet, his eyes invisible to hers. She had come to the Overseer's office once he had called the clinic over the Intercom. Amata had come, hesitatingly.

The security forces had not barred her way, had not dared to do so. Not with Fawkes guarding the Atrium hallway that lead upwards to the Vault's – usually – undisputed ruler's quarters. Her face had made it clear beyond any doubt that she had not approved of how he had decided to „deal" with the new Overseer, former Officer Mack, but he had ignored that, just like he had learned to ignore many other things during this past year.

His eyes – and only his eyes, as his helmet did not move and inch - wandered over to the spot where the body had dropped down after what could by no means be called a fight. There was no blood. Well, not much blood. „Overseer" Mack had hardly drawn his pristine, pre-war FN-FAL assault rifle before he had burned two laser beams through his forehead and his left eye. The heat had instantly cauterized the wounds, but like with every violent death he had witnessed in his time „above", there always was blood. Fawkes had taken the rifle and the ammonution, even though in the ten feet tall man's hands the weapon looked more like a toy then anything else.

He also had taken care of the body. Carrying the dead Overseer to the incineration chambers of Vault 101 on his arms, people had fled in horror, and even Mack's conscripted security force had retreated behind the bulkhead doors and abandoned their posts.

Maybe all this would have been easier if she had seen what had happened here. He saw her smile waver as the seconds passed by without any response from him, then he slowly shook his head.

„No."  
It was just that single steeled word, uttered from the void he had created in his mind, where anger and hurt could not penetrate him, and he saw her take an involuntary step back. The word seemed to stick in the air between them, sounding metallic through his suit's speakers, and empty of emotion, even anger. His eyes went back to the place Mack had died, then returned to Amata. No, he would not kill just another Overseer. Not Amata. Even though the mixture of indignation and perplexion at his response and the hardly hidden anger behind her eyes made the idea... tempting.

„You _have_ to go. This whole thing started because of you and your father, and the Vault will never calm down again as long as you are here. I helped you back then," she practically pleaded him, „and that got my father killed and threw our home into chaos. There's no chance the gaps can be mended with you being around as a constant reminder of what caused the chaos, and people will just want to leave on their own. People this Vault _needs_, and you know that!"

„I said 'no'."

He slowly turned away from her and walked towards the huge, round window that allowed the Overseer to overlook the level's atrium from his office. He crossed his hands behind his back, watching Amata's reflection in the plastic-glass fabric while fifteen feet below only a handful of people populated the usually brimming with life area. Every level had an atrium, and much like the forum in ancient Roman cities, it was the meeting point for a level's inhabitants. This one was virtually empty, and with the security lockdown still nominally in place, the other nine inhabited of the Vault's thirteen levels would look no different. After a few moments, he turned back to his childhood friend. He believed that subconciously she had realized the positions of power had changed, and that the equation had not turned to her advantage. Her body language told him as much, even though her mind had not yet accepted the new challenge yet.

She was fumbling with her hands now, and the pleading tone had vanished from her voice, replaced by her usual confident, demanding intonation. „We want to deal with the outside world, but it has to be controlled. You have to leave, and as much as it pains me, you cannot come back!"

„Make me."

The words hit her as if he had slapped her in the face.

„You have changed," she finally answered through a grimace that most likely should have become a soft smile. Thinking that, he almost had to chuckle. Amata had never been the one for soft emotions, not as the do-it-yourself daughter of the Overseer. „And because of that, it makes my decision all the more necessary. I do not want to do this to you, but can't you see I have no choice here?"

The appeal to reason almost carried with it the old, dominating bravado Amata had always carried with her like an aura of authority, and not just because she had been the previous Overseer's daughter. Almost.

He walked over to the Overseer's chair and sat down, watching both, Amata and the fake wood panelling on the wall behind her. The chair beneath him creaked under the stress of carrying his weight and that of his suit. Motioning her to take the seat opposite to his, he folded his hands, gloved in dusty kevlar-padded compound materials, and peered over them, directly at his old friend.  
Again, long seconds passed by before someone spoke up again.

„Amata." It was the first time since he had come back to 101 that he had spoken her name, and the reaction it caused showed as much: she was surprised. „You have always been a good friend to me. A very good friend. You have gone through a lot because of me, and because of my father. Because of that, and because of the feelings I once _had_ for you-."

„Had, or still have?" she interrupted him, her hazel eyes seeming to directly stare into his once again. Now she was trying to play with him, and he would have none of it.  
„That I _had_ for you. Because this was my home. Because those people were my friends and neighbours. That's why I will make this as clear and blunt as it has to be: What happens to Vault 101 is not in your hands anymore; what happens to or with _me_ is not in your hands. It's in mine. There are thousands of people out there in the D.C. wastelans, maybe even tens of thousands. Not much, compared to the millions it were two centuries ago, but still a whole lot more than the nine hundred-and-something of 101. And you are simply not fit to handle them."

„I could order the the security officers to make you leave," she said after some moments of silence, but even to her it seemed to sound half-hearted. „To keep you out."

„None of you have any fucking idea what you are getting into here!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in a fit of frustration. His sudden outburst took her aback.

„I wear a T-51b military grade powered armour suit, Amata. Even at point blank range, the only thing Mack or any of his men would have achieved to create were a lot of ricochets. Do you know what I carry around with me, Amata? _Do you_? In my backpack I have a minigun with 700 rounds, a sniper rifle and a dozen micro-nukes. And that doesn't even scrape the surface of what I've got in active and passive explosives. I carry enough firepower with me to wipe out the whole of 101 three times in a row, and that is without me letting Fawkes off the leash. Girl, do you want to rethink your demand?"

Even she got what he implied here, and her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.  
„You wouldn't... You couldn't...!" she stammered, and he cut her off.

„Oh, I could, be assured of that. But I _would not_. Fuck, I have changed a lot, but I'm no indiscriminate butcher, Amata. Never will be, god willing. But others might not be so benevolent. You people have no fucking clue what's out there, but you, Amata, as the new and wise Overseer, think the best course of action is to send the only person with a clue away? Why not let me handle the outside business instead while you control things here."

„I take it you're not planning to let that, that _thing_ here?!"

„Fawkes is a very intelligent, well-read man, Amata," he corrected her gently, but in a voice which tolerated no objection. „But no, I do _not_ plan to let him stay here. He's a companion, not a lackey. And given what he's been through, I doubt he'd want to stay underground any longer than absolutely necessary."

„You know I can just say yes and amen to everything you tell me now, and we'll just keep you out once you've left?" There she was again, the old, confident Amata. But confidence was a brittle thing.

„Keeping me out?" he laughed, and now it sounded genuinely amused. „Oh Amata, Amata my dear," he shook his head, ignoring her flaring eyes. „Do you seriously think the Vault door could keep me out?" he continued in a soft voice, very much like that of a patient father explaining something to an ignorant child. „With the _expertise_ I have? With the _means_ I have? With the _connections_ I have? Oh, fer fuck's sake, Amata, do you have any idea who I am? What I _do_ out there?"

He rose abruptly from the chair, the seat creaking audibly in relief.  
„You should take a walk outside. You know, just to the opening of the cave, and tune in your Pip-Boy to _Galaxy News Radio_. It's the inofficial propaganda arm of the Brotherhood of Steel, and the host keeps singing my praise twentyfour-seven. You know, I have a pretty good standing with most of the important people in a twenty mile radius, and my word counts for a lot in most places. You want to trade? No problem, I'll tell my people in Canterbury Commons to change the trade routes. Need workers? Consumers? Megaton, Big Town and Arefu owe me big time, and with my reputation you'll have people line up and beg to help me."

And that was not even a lie. Maybe he could even find the Mechanist again. As whacky as he had been, a man with his technical expertise was a valuable ally, especially as the guy liked protecting the helpless. And having sentry droids and plasma-armed "Mr. Gutsy's" on your side did not hurt at all.

„But not everybody likes me, or Vault Dwellers in their cushy, comfortable underground cities. How would you deal with the slavers, Amata? Or the cannibals. What about the raiders? The bands of supermutants and feral ghouls? Do you even have an idea what a ghoul _is_? The wastes are a dangerous, violent place, and if you do not want to endanger a lot more lifes, the only option is letting me handle this. I can train and equip your people, and I can establish contact to trustworthy sources outside. You, frankly, cannot."

„Stop talking to me as if I were a small child," she scowled at him. „We've been through some pretty rough times down here. You're not the only one who had it hard!"

„You people had it hard? You?" he felt as if he had to choke on the words. „Because a handful of you died and there were some social tension down here? Cry me a river, you fucking hypocrites!" he almost spat out the words. „You fucking, ignorant, know-it-all bigots. It's as if you people haven't even realized that a power armoured fighter bristling with weapons walked into the Vault. Hello 101, reality's calling. D.C. is a warzone, with mercenaries, the Brotherhood and the supermutants fighting each other. The metro tunnels are infested with feral ghouls and raider strongholds. It's damn harsh out there, and all you have to respond to that fact is that you all continue to wallow in your ignorance, because, hey, you've got a steel door. Well, the twenty raiders I killed at the ruins of _Springvale Elementary_ a month after I left sure where mightly impressed by that. Meaning, not at all. They still had half a mile to go, but they were blasting and digging their way through the rock just fine," he snorted.

„Twenty of them, armed with everything, from hammers over pistols up to assault rifles. And they had grenades, too, and apparently enough home made explosives. You think the security force could have dealt with them? Yeah, your elite fighting force armed with batons and 10mm pistols," he shook his head. Amata had turned silent as he went on and on, but he knew she was listening intently to what he said.

„I heard Butch talking about being a raider out in the wastes to some of the other younger people. Butch, who is afraid of rad roaches! And he has about as much balls as one can find in 101, even though he handed his brain in for them. But you'll need people like him. That is, if you can keep him under control. I'll do everything in my power to help this Vault, Amata, but I have my price now, and I'm not your babysitter. I won't always be here, because others also depend on me, and because I have obligations to meet. Count yourselves lucky that the big slaver and raider strongholds have been dealt with by yours truly here. Means, there are a lot more dead bad guys and a lot more free people looking for a way to make a living up there then there were a year ago."

He sighed. He was tired, worn out, but he just was too much of a goody two shoes to let them ran into their demise with a blindfold over their eyes. And some truths simply needed harsh deliveries.  
„I will keep this Vault safe, Amata. I will get you the guns, the training and the people you need. But I will not be pushed aside."

„What's in it for you? If I've learned one thing in the short time you've been back here, you're not doing things just for the hell of it."

„For me? Profit. Influence. Power. Satisfaction. I know you'll find that hard to believe now, but I have done a lot of good things out there Amata. But I've also learned that altruism doesn't feed you or repair your guns. Everything comes with a price, and at the end of the day, I intend to be one of the people in the D.C. Area who actually move things." He leaned his head to one side. „You could also be one of those people," he added, and held out his hand.

„Do we have a deal, Amata?"

After a few moments, she grudgingly grabbed his extended hand and shook it. And for the first time, he grinned.

„I think this chair now belongs to you. Good luck, Madam Overseer."

Edit: A question to those who R&R this and think it's not a good characters (as in karma): why?


End file.
